Subject to Change
by byronicBritainiac
Summary: You've never exactly been great at telling people how you feel - and now that you know you have to tell John Egbert exactly how you feel about him, you've never been more afraid of screwing up.


TT: You're a pretty shitty friend. You've had this thing for JohnEgbert for what seems like forever and you've barely dropped a hint about it. And now you're on your way to visit him, and you have no idea what you're going to do. Your name is DaveStrider and you've never been less sure of yourself.

As you stand in the stuffy, overcrowded airport, you glance left and right, determinedly attempting to retain your last vestiges of cool. Pressing your dark sunglasses further up the bridge of your nose and carelessly sweeping your hair out of your face, you lean against a column near baggage claim, and wait for Egbert to get his ass here already. You wish you felt as nonchalant as you look.

It's been five years since you started playing that stupid game with your friends - five long, pointless years since you've spent time with Egbert that wasn't tainted by fear of attack or ridiculously confusing plot twists. Now that your life has slowed down and you've settled back into what was once your routine, you figure it's about time you and Egbert started hanging out again. Despite your calm and collected exterior, you're nervous as hell and you really, really don't want to screw this up. You've often wondered if it's really worth the risk of losing him as a friend, just to tell him how you feel. You've been incredibly careful not to let anything on, so you're sure John has no idea how you really feel. And though you'd never tell anyone, not even John, you feel for him something even _you_ don't fully understand. Maybe that's why it's taken you so long to arrange this trip.

"Hey! Dave!" You're jerked abruptly out of your reverie by the sound of a familiar voice coming to you from the other side of baggage claim. You stand high on your toes, so you can see over the heads of all the people milling around collecting their bags. You finally spot him standing across the room, waving his arms wildly, huge grin firmly in place. You smirk (because, of course, Striders don't smile) and walk lazily to meet him.

Egbert's just as you remember him: a little shorter than you, with jet-black hair, bright blue eyes, and square-lensed glasses. He smiles up at you and throws his arms wide. As you embrace him tightly, you try your best to communicate without speaking, to put into the embrace what you're almost too afraid to say out loud. You step back and look into his face, and for the smallest fraction of a second, he looks like he's going to say something, like he's understood your message. But then the moment is gone and you both seem to realize that you're surrounded by people in a crowded airport.

"Come on," you say, gesturing to the exit. "Let's get out of here, I'm starving."

As you walk with John toward the automatic sliding doors that lead out of the terminal and into the rain, the crowd jostles you so that your hand brushes momentarily against John's. John turns to you with that silly smile on his face, and, seemingly without a second thought, grabs your hand back and holds it all the way out of the terminal and into the parking garage. All the while, you grin like an idiot in spite of yourself.

When you finally get to Egbert's car, an obnoxiously green Prius, he lets go of your hand to fish in his pocket for his keys. You gaze fixedly at him, glad that your dark glasses allow you some amount of ambiguity in your staring. When he turns back to you, however, he seems to know what you were doing, and you both blush deeply and look away.

_Get a fucking grip, Strider, _you think wildly.

John moves as if to open the door for you, but you raise your eyebrows at him and pull open the door yourself, sliding into the car as coolly as you possibly can. John sits down beside you and fumbles to put the key in the ignition, still blushing furiously. In an attempt to spare him, you shift your gaze away from him, trying not to think of how his hands looked as they gripped the steering wheel, how his arms flexed as he put the car into gear.

The ride to Egbert's house is virtually silent. You and John both try in vain to make small talk, but after a while, you both give it up and sit in relative taciturnity.

The sun's setting by the time Egbert finally pulls into his driveway. The trees lining the sidewalks cast tall, dark shadows on the pavement. John turns off the car, pulls out the keys, and shoves them roughly back into his pocket. You watch him closely as he hurries to the door and bends down to grab the key from under the doormat. He looks tense, you notice, and he doesn't seem to want to look at you. You wonder if he can sense your anxiety like you can sense his.

He's halfway over the threshold of the darkened house when the words come tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"John, I need to tell you something."

Egbert turns to you as the door closes behind you, plunging you and John into almost complete darkness. You mentally kick yourself for your sudden boldness, but you know it's too late to take back what you've said as you hear John fumbling blindly for the light switch. When he finally finds it, he flips it, and then gazes fixedly at you, his mouth slightly open. He doesn't speak, though; instead, he moves forward and prizes the sunglasses slowly from your face. You shut your eyes instinctively, feeling exposed and slightly indignant.

"What the hell, Egbert?" you mutter, trying blindly to snatch your glasses back.

"Open your eyes, asshole. I'm not talking to you with those glasses on."

Cursing, you open your eyes and take your glasses back before he can stop you, glaring at him insolently as you stuff your shades unceremoniously into your pocket.

"Happy?" You blush at how childish you sound.

"Yeah," he says, smiling again. "So what did you want to tell me?"

You shift your weight nervously from foot to foot, as your heart starts beating faster. You try to look at him as you speak, but it's like staring into a bright light.

"Well, you know," you begin awkwardly, acutely aware of how _uncool_ you are being right now. "I sort of have, uhh, a thing."

"A thing?"

"Yeah."

He looks puzzled. "What sort of thing?"

"For you," you mutter, feeling your face burning. _Fuckfuckfuckfuck-_

"What?" Egbert still looks confused and you're seriously starting to panic. You decide to go on the offensive.

"I have a thing for _you,_ okay? I have for like, forever, now! I've never wanted to tell you because I always thought you wouldn't think of me like that but I can't keep it in any longer and I just thought you deserved to know." You're breathing heavily, furious at yourself for the very uncool way you just handled that.

You turn as if to leave, because at this point all you want to do is run away and hide somewhere, but Egbert grabs your arm, and when you turn back to him and see his hard, blazing look, you know that words aren't enough anymore.

You pull him close and press your mouth firmly against his, feeling his pulse mingling with yours as you thread your fingers through his hair. He responds with enthusiasm, his breath hitching slightly and his arms encircling your waist. The smell of him is intoxicating, a mixture of soap and cheap cologne. You revel in him, the feel of his lips on yours, the way his hands leave your waist to move up your chest, and do you best not to moan aloud. John breaks the kiss gently and takes both your hands in his, pulling you wordlessly upstairs.

...

You go slowly, because you've done this before, and you know he hasn't. You're determined to make this good for him, to show him how you feel in a way you'd never be able to put into words.

But he isn't afraid; you hold him close as you guide him through it, and even though it seems you're all arms and legs and awkwardness, he moves with a kind of sweetness that elicits a moan from you more than once. He says your name over and over. You savor the way it sounds on his lips.

...

Later, as you lie spent and exhausted, with your body pressed against John's in his cramped twin bed, you hear his heavy breathing and you know he's asleep. Even though you're tired, too, you don't want to sleep - you want to capture this moment and this feeling like one of your photos.

John shifts a little in his sleep, moving so that he's lying across your chest. He mutters a bit, and then subsides. You smile in spite of yourself, and wonder, as you feel the warmth of his body against you, if maybe you're not such a shitty friend after all.

TG: whoa rose

TT: Yes, Dave?

TG: i mean

TG: is that seriously what would happen if i uh

TG: you know

TG: told john?

TT: Dave, I've told you. That was one of several possible outcomes. The future is always subject to change. Even as a Seer, I couldn't possibly tell you which of the likely outcomes is actually going to happen.

TG: im gonna go for it

TG: im gonna tell him

TG: rose i gotta go theyre calling my flight

TT: Good luck, Dave. Tell me how it goes.

TG: yeah okay

TG: also

TG: nice sex scene

TT: Sigh.

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 08:22

[24 Jun 2013]

...

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 19:47

[26 Jun 2013]

TG: hey rose

TG: i told him

TG: he uh

TG: he said he didnt feel the same

TG: so i guess thats about it for me

TG: bros gone and now john is too

TG: rose

TG: im done im not doing this anymore

TG: im done

TT: Dave...I'm so sorry.

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 19:54

[26 Jun 2013]


End file.
